


Resemblance

by Joel7th



Series: Eden [4]
Category: Hex (TV), Murphy's Law (UK TV), Wanted (2008)
Genre: AU, Community: mcfassy, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/M, Fassavoy, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Post-Canon, Sequel, cherik inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2495111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joel7th/pseuds/Joel7th
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The question was how Caz was able to tell so much about the boy’s eyes. His eyes were striking, yes; still, they weren’t striking as his tailored midnight outfit, and much less than the prominent tattoo on his neck, deliberately left for view by his open-collared shirt. The only reason Caz had been able to get a good examination of his eyes was because the boy had slid into the seat across from him, reserved for Wesley when he joined Caz later for an English breakfast. And also because his eyes were boring into Caz with a vehement passion exclusively saved for his most beloved or greatest adversary.</p><p>… Or, on some odd occasions, both.</p><p>Caz locked eyes with the boy and greeted him with a grin, taunting menace flaring like wild fire.</p><p>“May I help you with something?”</p><p>“Nothing,” the boy leaned in, countering Caz’s grin with his own cheeky one as he said, “it’s just you look so much like my dad, is all.”</p><p>---<br/>An unlikely encounter of Wesley and Caz with the ‘messiah of the fallen angels’ – Malachi.<br/>---</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resemblance

**Disclaimer :**  Characters belong to their respectful owners

\---

 

That this city was odd was the thought suddenly hitting Caz’s lazy mind as he sat in a little bistro, sipping his black coffee in the time of breakfast. Wesley had gone to tend to some small business and he’d promised to be back before breakfast was over; thus Caz had ordered a coffee and waited.

The morning was peaceful and the streets quiet, as though a mystical veil had been put over London, compelling its citizen to remain in sleep. The silence was unsettling compared to Caz’s still-fresh memory of this bustling city, and that was when the thought struck him: there were certainly strange things going on in this city. Well, to be fair, London, as Caz recalled, was never associated with ‘normal’ or ‘conventional’; but this time, it was a feeling of dreadful alienation that wormed through every nook and cranny that he felt, irrational yet couldn’t be shaken off, like an itch at the back of his mind he could ignore when occupied but became irritating again once he let himself relax. The dissonant serenity was one instance, another being the bizarre black symbol which seemed to be present everywhere, literally everywhere, even in this little bistro, with this pretty little waitress bearing it on the skin of her neck. Some odd fad he didn’t grasp?

And surely odder was the bevy of youths that just passed through the door, all dressed in black and having the same symbol tattooed on their neck. Their leader – Caz assumed – was a boy about sixteen or seventeen of age, ridiculously good-looking with brown curls and slightly tanned skin. The way he carried himself around the place exuded an air of recklessness and peril which immensely thrilled Caz – the similiar fatal attraction drawing him to Wesley in their first encounter at Belfast. In a certain way the boy resembled Wesley, despite obvious differences in build and look; Caz had to admit, had he not already established a solid bond with Wesley, he would no doubt go for this boy, his age and sexual orientation be damned.

Another thing to remind Caz of Wesley was the boy’s eyes: piercing and carrying sharp chills within when they gazed at their subject. The color was the same – blue – though the shades were vastly distinct: Wesley’s was the blue of sky reflected in the ocean while this boy’s was the blue tint of ice.

The question was how Caz was able to tell so much about the boy’s eyes. His eyes were striking, yes; still, they weren’t striking as his tailored midnight outfit, and much less than the prominent tattoo on his neck, deliberately left for view by his open-collared shirt. The only reason Caz had been able to get a good examination of his eyes was because the boy had slid into the seat across from him, reserved for Wesley when he joined Caz later for an English breakfast. And also because his eyes were boring into Caz with a vehement passion exclusively saved for his most beloved or greatest adversary.

… Or, on some odd occasions, both.

Caz locked eyes with the boy and greeted him with a grin, taunting menace flaring like wild fire.

“May I help you with something?”

“Nothing,” the boy leaned in, countering Caz’s grin with his own cheeky one as he said, “it’s just you look so much like my dad, is all.”

 _Best_ pick-up line ever.

Caz couldn’t help sniggering when he asked with a little disbelief, “Me? Look like your old man?”

“Like splitting image,” the boy added, “to the extent it’d undoubtedly fool mortal eyes.”

Caz’s sniggers turned laughter. “Poetic much? Aren’t you a little too young to speak like that?”

“Can’t help. Dad speaks like that all the time. Kind of gets to me.”

“If your old chap looks like me, he must have had you at, what, ten years old?” Mimicking the boy’s gesture, Caz also leaned forward, cutting the already short distance between them.

“Much older, actually. Mother was young, but dad’s, well…”

Caz raised an eyebrow at his hesitation; he decided not to delve into the boy’s contrast use of tenses.

“…a dirty old man,” he commented between stifled laughter. “In fact, I don’t even know how old he was when he put me in my mother’s stomach.”

“So good for a son,” said Caz as he took out a cigarette. It was a bit silly of him to listen to some stranger’s family story (quite amusing by the way) – Wesley would laugh and call him a gossipy housewife, sure – but this was a good way to kill time; waiting was a truly dreadful bore.

While he was fumbling in his pocket for the lighter, from the group waiting behind the boy a girl wordlessly stepped up to light the smoke for him, as per the boy’s snapping fingers. Soon as she’d done her ‘duty’, the girl retreated to her place and resumed her silence.

Their ‘discipline’ had Caz amazed and struck him as a group of loyal servants following their absolute master, which was rather weird considering how all of them were roughly the same age and wearing more or less the same kind of outfit. His curiosity about the boy’s status prompted Caz to study him as he took in a lungful of nicotine. Holding the cigarette with his right hand, he went for the gun at his belt, hidden by his long coat.

Just  _in case_ …

“Even your way of smoking is similar to his,” the boy said, after seconds of silent contemplation.

Caz grinned behind tendrils of smoke and threw his packet of cigarette in front of the boy. “At this point, I won’t be surprised if your old man smokes the same brand.”

“Not exactly the same, “ replied the boy as he was playing the packet with idle fingers. “One of his top favorites though.”

“Look, boy, if you miss your old man so much, why not go home and give him a hug, maybe a kiss? I don’t mind your company but my own may not fancy his seat being taken.”

To Caz’s surprise, the boy folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them, looking up at Caz with those pale blue eyes of his, made less piercing by a thin veil of emotion, perhaps longing.

“He left me some time ago and he isn’t available at the moment. Or anytime soon.”

The subtle addition of feelings in his eyes and the way he sounded made him much younger than his appearance – like a abandoned child – and it somewhat watered down all his strange behaviors since he took Wesley’s seat.

“,,,which is why I want to ask you a favor.”

“What do you want?”

“Be him for a while and…”

His eyes squinted at the mischievous gleam in the boy’s pale irises.

“…and receive this.”

His words were quick but his move was far quicker. His speed, almost inhuman, broke through Caz’s sharp instinct and trained defense as he pressed his lips firmly against Caz’s.

The boy smirked against Caz’s lips when he heard the twin ‘clicks’ echo dryly and twin rigid muzzles kissed his forehead and the back of his head.

“I believe you’re in MY place, boy, and I don’t fancy my place taken. Fuck off or I’ll make you.”

His mock British accent would be rather hilarious, provided it wasn’t spoken in a deadpan tone, accompanied by a gun. Just by his tone alone Caz could easily tell Wesley was deadly furious and his own code of ‘unnecessary violence avoidance’ was the only latch that kept him from blowing the boy’s brain. Yet the sight of his knuckles went bone-white denounced his hold on it was failing.

Caz reclined against his chair, making a distance with the boy; his gun, on the contrary, refused to part with the boy’s skull. Like Wesley, he, too, was  _very_  tempted to pull the trigger.

Despite threatened with two fully loaded guns, the boy was surprisingly unfazed; so were his followers. Their unmoving eyes became an anxiety that put a damp on Caz’s rage.

“Oh, your company’s back. Quicker than I thought. “

The boy chuckled, making a show of his licking his lips while gluing his eyes on Caz’s. “Mine seems unwanted.”

Slowly standing up from the seat, his gaze shifted between Wesley and Caz with obvious interest, all the while without the slightest concern about the guns and Wesley’s seething rage. “Thank you… for being  _him_  for a while...” he said, running his fingers absent-mindedly through his dark curls. “…do miss  _him_  too much, you know… Anyway, what a lovely company you have, desirable even…”

He wasn’t finished when Wesley’s fist came flying at his face. With a light tilt of his body, the boy dodged Wesley’s attack and caught a hold of his gun, forcefully steering it at Caz, the muzzle barely inches away from his forehead.

Wesley and Caz’s breath both hiked up.

“I really like both of you, which is a little strange for me. I guess, violence is uncalled for, eh?’

Wesley and Caz would remember what they were witnessing for the rest of their life, maybe in the next: the sight of the boy’s pale eyes turning red and his followers’ yellow, coupled with hellish pupils. Even the pretty little waitress that’d served Caz earlier was no exception. Behind them the walls were tainted with grotesquely shaped silhouettes

Quick as it had been cast, the illusion dissipated when the boy graced them with his cheeky grin. “See you later.“ He gave them a two-finger salute and made his way to the entrance, his gang following suit. “I’m called Malachi, by the way. Means  _Messenger_ ,” he added, before disappearing from their sight.

It took them millennia to gather their wits, with a little help from the waitress’ calling for Wesley, who didn’t seem to notice he was standing frozen on his spot. The sweet smile she was wearing as she placed a glass of water and a menu in front of Wesley didn’t quite erase her devilish impression earlier.

“The fuck just happened?”

Wesley slumped back against the chair, beads of sweat visible at his temples.

“Who the hell is he? And  _him_?”

“The former – no idea. The latter – his dad,” Cas replied between long, haste drags of his cigarette. “That shit of brat walked in, told me I had his old man’s face. Weird indeed, just not as weird as later.”

Wesley’s face went paler than it’d been. “Don’t tell me…  _father-fucker_ …?”

Caz winced at his choice of word and shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”

“Fuck!” Wesley cursed, fingers mussing his damp mob of chocolate hair. “Were we on drugs or something?”

“Probably. Except we weren’t,” Caz said and gestured to Wesley’s gun, still clutched in his tight grip like he’d entirely forgotten its existence.

“Holy shit!” Wesley exclaimed, slamming his gun on the table. Knowing how capable and unfazed the waitress was in dealing with ‘difficult situations’, he wasn’t bothered with subtleness.

Half his gun had been melted unshapely; the metal gave his skin a burn when he tried to touch it in disbelief.

Where the boy called ‘Malachi’ had grabbed…

“Crazy fuck,” Wesley barked out a laugh. “I’m scared shitless.”

“Well, that’s new. I thought there was nothing that could scare you.”

“Tell me you aren’t,” Wesley huffed.

“Way more than you are,” Caz admitted, inhaling another lungful of nicotine. “You saw that tattoo on his neck?”

“Yeah, his and theirs, and pretty fucking everywhere. Some new wacky fad?”

“Perhaps some cult.”

“This city’s getting nuttier than my last time here.”

“I suppose we won’t miss it for a while.”

Or a lifetime.

“Yeah,” Wesley agreed, dryly. “Next time someone offers us a job in London, remind me to shoot him.”

“Me first,” said Caz with a shrug. Taking the last drag of his cigarette, he crushed it in the ashtray and reached for the menu, which, of course, bore the same symbol on its hard leather cover.

“Still care for breakfast?” Caz grinned widely, waving the menu to Wesley, who took a side glance at the cover and grimaced.

“Maybe not. Let’s leave here. The quicker we finish our business, the sooner we can return to the States. Seeing that fucking symbol is enough to make me sick.”

Little did they know they’d soon be seeing that symbol in the United States.

\------

Multitude shades of night reflected in his pale blue eyes as he watched, through the floor-to-ceiling window, London  _burn_  to life.

“Come back to me.”

A female voice commanded, turning his attention to the king-size bed in the middle of the room; on which laid a woman, dark hair cascading over her milky-white skin, barely concealing her feminine curves. He smiled and obeyed, losing articles of his clothing as he made his way back to the bed. When his head rested on her lap, he was like her, clad in nothing but his own skin, vigorous and youthful and sensitive to touch.

…and touch was her expertise.

He let out a soft sigh like a satiated cat as he felt her hand gently weaving though his curls to reach the skin of his neck, reconstituting the unearthly mark there with the tips of her nimble fingers.

“Jo,” he said, turning to look at her with his eyes, half-closed and glassy, “do you think I have any brothers?”

The woman stifled a laugh. “As if one little bastard wasn’t enough.”

“That means no?”

“Yes, that means no. Your father wasn’t very enthusiastic in childcare and your demonic howling almost had him gone mad several times. But for the whole ‘messiah of the fallen angels’ thing, I don’t think he would have ever wanted to make any children.”

“I feel unloved,” he groaned. “Why was I born to this cruel world?”

“To make my life miserable,” she quipped, “you and your daddy both.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, grinning cheekily at her. “But he’s been shagging women for millennia, I find it hard to believe I’m the only child.”

“Well, when he wasn’t making little devil bastards, he always remembered to use condoms.”

A laugh. “Someone’s jealous… ouch!”

He yelped, clutching his left ear, where Jo had mercilessly pinched.

“That’s to teach you some respect,” Jo reprimanded him. “But why suddenly bring this up, Malachi? It finally occurs to you that you have only child syndrome?”

Rubbing his ear, Malachi managed a pout before replying, “I saw someone who looks so much like dad it seems he’s dad’s son, not me.”

“Really? How alike?”

“If you see him, you won’t be able to tell the difference. I’d have mistaken him for dad if I hadn’t known he was human.”

Jo arched an eyebrow, half-surprised, half-dubious. “You’re sure you weren’t on drugs or under spell? I won’t be surprised if those angels resort to playing dirty.”

“Don’t take me for a stupid child, Jo,” Malachi deadpanned, his tone losing all previous gleefulness. “I know what I saw.”

Jo was hardly intimidated. “Not stupid, but a child nonetheless.” Gently pinching his cheek, she purred into his ear, “ _My_  child.”

Malachi made a derisive sound, but allowed the matter to slip. Arguing with Jo only further proved her point while he had better ways to show her later.

“He’s human and completely unaware of anything going on. He even threatened me with a gun.”

“I’d be surprised if he hadn’t,” Jo said, barely able to contain her snickers. “What did you do?”

“Nothing serious. I told him he looked like dad and…”

“And…?”

“…and I stole his lips.”

“Oh, that’s a surprise indeed,” Jo commented, mockingly. “I didn’t know you were also into men.”

“Not men, just him,” Malachi corrected her. “That he looks so much like dad made me want to take him right there.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Well, the same fact kept me from truly doing so. Paradoxical isn’t it?”

Jo’s eyebrows frowned into a disapproving scowl she was so used to as a teacher. “Azazeal would beat you bloody if he’d heard you.”

“Oh, don’t speak for him, Jo. I have a feelings he wouldn’t be too repulsed by it. Maybe even enjoy it.”

“You know, Azazeal, like you, is never short of female company. That’s even more so as he’s now in Hell.”

“I’ll make him forget them all.”

A devilish smile graced his lips as he looked at Jo attentively. “Give you some ideas for your erotica. I know you fancy that kind of stuff.”

“Cocky little bastard,” she cursed, unmaliciously. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell your daddy?

“I’d rather you did. That way he’ll be motivated to drag his arse up here to see me.”

“I don’t think Lucifer would let go of Azazeal anytime soon,” Jo quipped, recalling her recent visit to Hell. “Everyone down there knows why he was cast out from Heaven. Sort of an ancient crush, that is. His Father is a jealous God after all.”

“Screw him!” Malachi growled, “Next time you go there, tell that old fart soon as I finish here and _up_ , I’m coming _down_  to him next.”

“Last time I check, that ‘old fart’ isn’t quite ‘old’, not in look of course. Blue eyes, boyish face, great fashion sense – Victorian – and bloody gorgeous. No wonder he was _His_  most favorite.”

She punctuated with a touch of sarcasm.

“Does dad fancy him?”

“Can’t speak for him. You have to ask Azazeal that.”

“I’ll put it at the top of my agenda.”

Jo contemplated Malachi for a few good seconds before saying, “You know, Malachi, it’s bloody like Electra complex. Only you are a boy.”

“I thought it was Oedipus complex.”

“Oedipus complex is when you want to kill your dad, not shag him,” Jo scowled. “What were you doing in my class?”

“ _Studying_  your teats,” Malachi replied phlegmatically.

“Not having enough? I remember having to breastfeed you when you were a baby.”

“You weren’t with child at that time, were you?”

“Well,” Jo said, tugging a dark curl behind her ear, “obviously your daddy couldn’t find any other way to make up for your lack of maternal love, even if I couldn’t really give you what you needed.”

“Must have been hard for you.”

“You bet. I didn’t even breastfeed my own child – died right after birth. Not to mention you occasionally bit me with your demonic little fangs.”

“Didn’t I?” Malachi burst out laughing. “Can’t remember. Anyway, you’re the closest thing I have to a mother. And I’ve been sharing bed with you since forever. Does it qualify as Oedipus complex?”

“Sort of. A mixed case. I imagine Freud and Jung would find it intriguing. They’re both down there, by the way.”

“Remind me to ask them when I meet them.”

“Tell me, if you so wanted that Azazeal look-alike, why didn’t make him yours?”

“He’s owned already,” said Malachi, a brief image of bright blue eyes and sleek black leather flashing his mind.”Lovely one, just a little hot-headed.”

His voice trailed off, a touch of longing added to his tone. “A perfect fit. Body and soul...”

Jo didn’t fail to grasp the subtle change. “Envy?”

“Admire,” he said, “which is why I’ll let them live till the very last day.”

“Quite generous, eh?”

“I’m always generous with what I like.”

He said, and grinned at her. Her reply was a knowing smile.

“So, what’s you next plan?”

“I’m thinking about America. Maybe Florida. I heard the beaches are gorgeous this time of the year. And if we’re lucky, we can celebrate my first birthday on the Empire State Building.”

“Your first birthday? Right, gotta make it special. What do you want, then?”

“You always know what I want, Jo, as I you.”

She couldn’t help a rather undignified yelp as he suddenly turned them over so that she was now under him. He kissed her like the child he was, hungrily, greedily, on her lips. her ears, her neck and her breasts, making her giggle, then laugh aloud.

“Devil boy,” she cursed between breathless laughter.

“Plus, the quicker I’m done here, the sooner I can have dad back.”

His pale blue eyes flared like Inferno as he finished, “And I have a feeling I’ll be seeing that interesting duo in America.”

_End_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: In case you didn’t catch the hint, Lucifer is portrayed by James McAvoy (fancast by me) and ambiguously the ‘Charles Xavier’ in 'Fair Trade' ('Charles Xavier' x Richard Wirth). This sort of explains his fascination with Richard Wirth (since Richard looks like Azazeal). He probably has a harem down there, full of men who bear Azazeal’s face (like Archie Hicox, Burke, Carl Jung, Stelios, Thomas Rainsborough, Guy Fawke…)
> 
> Jo’s fascination with erotica and her trip to Hell are canonical.
> 
> Jo’s comment on God: “His Father [God] is a jealous God” and Malachi’s comment on Wesley and Caz’s relationship: “A perfect fit. Body and soul” are both taken from Hex.


End file.
